


Disinherited

by thismighthurt



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thismighthurt/pseuds/thismighthurt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old wealth, old values. That's what gets Akashi Seijuurou kicked out of his house when his father finds out he's gay.</p>
<p>Not that Akashi's about to waste any time lamenting his lost wealth and inheritance -- he's damn well ready to make his own, hostile buyout of the Akashi group of companies and everything. He of all people can survive strategically roughing it out for a while, even if that does include the painstaking process of learning to cook something other than scrambled eggs.</p>
<p>What Akashi doesn't realize is that this also includes the return of none other than Nijimura Shuuzou, and the painstaking process of navigating being infuriatingly, inconveniently in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for this. I apologize for vomiting these words onto the keyboard and then adding. multiple. chapters. Also, there is a song here!! It's Fools by Troye Sivan because Troye Sivan 
> 
> Written for Zoristic for KNB Secret Santa 2015!! I really, really hope you like this! Thanks for being the coolest person omggg

“So you spent your money… On a horse.”

“On _my_ horse,” Akashi corrected.

There was crisp silence in the apartment.

“Father said if I didn’t ‘stop this madness’, he would ‘remove every mention of Akashi Seijuurou from the Akashi family legacy’,” Akashi explained calmly, drawing quotations in the air as he spoke. “I had to purchase Yuukimaru from him and pay for her lodgings at our stables, or he would have thrown her out as well.”

“Ah,” Mibuchi nodded. He managed a patient smile, masking his soft inner screaming. All he could really absorb was Akashi Seijuurou sitting _serenely_ on their sky blue sofa, looking like he was modelling their living room set altogether, while in reality telling Mibuchi Reo and his boyfriend Sato Yoichi how his father had _actually written him off the family will_.

Akaashi Seijuurou had just been dispossessed. Divested. Disinherited. _Disowned_. Mibuchi had no idea what that felt like, but he was sure that Akashi was supposed to feel a little more _worried_. (Hence the inner screaming. It was like secondhand embarrassment, but… it was worry. It was secondhand worry. [Mibuchi didn’t really know. Is this what mothers felt like? He screamed a little louder inside.])

Sato, ever the patient boyfriend, just watched with morbid curiosity from the breakfast bar. (But was too shocked to be screaming inwardly, Mibuchi could tell.) Akashi cleared his throat, and Mibuchi blinked back into reality.

“I’m sorry again,” Akashi said to both of them, dipping his head in a subtle but sincere bow. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Mibuchi started in his armchair. Then he felt his poor heart start to defrost, to outright melt, because he could see it now: apprehension, set into Akashi’s shoulders and the fact the he was actually _here._ Akaashi Seijuurou had actually shown up at their door on a cold January night with a piece of luggage, asking politely for refuge-- What else were Mibuchi and Sato supposed to do but let the precious thing in and give him a glass of milk? It wasn’t like either of them could say they didn’t sympathize with him either. After all, it wasn’t any small matter, being _disowned_.

In silent agreement with Sato, Mibuchi finally reached over and clasped Akashi’s hands. From the breakfast bar Sato said, “Please, stay as long as you’d like, Akashi-kun.”

The shift in Akashi’s posture was precious in itself. “Thank you,” he breathed. “I’ll just need a week to find a job and a new apartment, and reposition my assets.”

Sato startled. “Just a week?”

“Yes,” Akashi replied, deadpan, fixing his gaze on Sato. Mibuchi could almost hear it: _They will kneel._

To think he’d been worried—Mibuchi let out a laugh. “That’s our Sei-chan,” he giggled, drawing the smallest smile from Akashi. “I’m just sorry it had to be this way.”

Akashi shook his head. “Don’t be. My father has always been very traditional. A half-naked man emerging from my room might not have been the best way for him to find out I’m gay.”

Sato choked. Mibuchi sagged in the armchair, laughing and clapping. Akashi grinned wryly and finally let himself lean back and sigh. “I have no regrets; Mizoguchi-san was very good looking. He left fast, though, as soon as Father started turning this very interesting shade of purple, so that’s another phone number I didn’t get.”

Mibuchi was still wiping away tears, replaying in his head the exact moment he saw Sato wonder if it had been a good idea to let _the_ Akashi Seijuurou hole up in their apartment, when Sato finally had to politely excuse themselves for dinner.

“Yoichi,” Mibuchi said gently, because it may have been their second anniversary but it seems they’d just adopted a wayward young man who—

“No, please!” Akashi stood suddenly. “I did catch you on your way out. Please don’t let me stand in the way of your dinner plans.”

“Sei-chan—“

“You’re already dressed. Is that Armani, Sato-san?”

Sato blinked owlishly. “Uh, yes, great eye you got there, Akashi-kun,” he said, and suddenly wondered if that was at all the right thing to say. ( _Great_ eye _? Freakin’ smooth, Sato_ , _now he’s going to predict your future and send you off a cliff_ \--)

But Mibuchi didn’t seem worried. In fact, he was grinning—trust Akashi (uh, this one at least) to make anyone simultaneously flattered and terrified with his gestures of friendship. “You really don’t mind, Sei-chan?”

“Of course I don’t,” he replied with a gentle smile. He had barely breathed in to say more when the doorbell started ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Urgently. Like the person on the other side had every intention of busting in if it wasn’t answered in the next minute.

“Oh,” was what came out of Akashi’s mouth instead. “Oh, no.”

And here Mibuchi’s inner screaming started up again, because he never thought this is how he’d die, with the Akashi family’s personal military going to kick down his door and retrieve the prodigal son. Sato also looked just about ready to grab a knife from the counter and fight them off, bless his soul.

But the voice on the other side of the door sounded like anyone but a retired military general or professional killer. “Mibuchi-san,” the voice whined. “Mibuchi-san, sorry, it’s Kise Ryouta! Is Akashi Seijuurou there? He texted us and—“

“Yo, Akashi, it’s time to get smashed,” a deep voice boomed from the other side.

Mibuchi turned slowly towards Akashi.

Akashi was cringing where stood by the sofa. “Sorry. My text was brief. They’re a panicky bunch.”

Mibuchi was glad he was born with the grace of Miss Universe. He steeled himself, stepped lightly to the door and pulled it open, only to have a very colorful group of people spilling into his apartment.

And there they were: The six of them, all long limbs and basketball prowess, towing a few more long limbed basketball boyfriends behind them.

They all seemed to come to when they saw Akashi standing calmly on Mibuchi’s plush blue carpet. To Akashi’s credit, he looked very good, very dapper in a fresh haircut, a sports jacket over a plain maroon shirt and expensive jeans, not at all like somebody who’d just been kicked out of their house and written off their remaining family’s last will and testament.

Kuroko had the good graces to bow to Mibuchi. “Sorry for the intrusion.” The rest of the Miracles followed suit.

“We were… just leaving… actually,” Sato choked out. He tossed a spare key to Akashi. Sato wasn’t very tall, and in this jungle of titans now looked like a good time to make a tactical retreat from his own home.

Akashi bowed in apology. “I guess we are too, though.”

Momoi pushed past Aomine and Midorima to gape at him. “Akashi-kun, we came to check on you, not to take you out if you don’t—“

“But Satsuki, it’s Miracles night!”

“Please stop calling it that,” Midorima said softly.

“We’ll go ahead,” Mibuchi decided. The Miracles helpfully cleared a path for him and Sato to the door.

“Thank you again! And Sato-san,” Akashi called as he saw them out. Sato turned around and saw the mischievous twinkle in Akashi’s eyes. “Good luck. I’m sure he’ll say yes,” Akashi whispered conspiratorially.

And so Sato Yoichi let Mibuchi take his arm and steer him down the hall as he wondered how in the hell Akashi knew he was going to propose tonight. Not for the first and last time, he wondered what he and his boyfriend had just done.

“Akashi-kun, are you okay?” Momoi asked as soon as they’d left. The elevator pinged in the distance. Akashi grabbed his coat from the rack.

“We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to,” Kise said gently.

Akashi shrugged on his coat. “I’ve been better. For once, though, I agree with Daiki. It’s time to get smashed.”

Aomine hooted as they all followed Akashi out the door. Then, quieter, as the other Miracles swallowed Akashi up in their attention, Aomine lagged behind with the afterthought of, “Wait… ‘for once’?”

 

 

And that’s how Akashi Seijuurou found himself in the Generation of Miracle’s local karaoke dive. The lights were warm and orange, the tables sticky but familiar, the music too loud and comforting. For the first time since October Akashi was warm too, with Midorima pressed up against him on one side and Kuroko on the other as they all tried to squish themselves into a booth. As Aomine and Kagami’s bickering started to draw attention and Kise’s natural charm brought the bartender’s eyes straight to him, Akashi was finally able to relax, to let out that giant breath he didn’t realize he was holding because holy fuck he’d just actually been legally written out of being an Akashi.

It was weird. It was liberating. It was terrifying and exhilarating. It was what found Akashi crawling over Midorima then Takao then Himuro then Murasakibara in an effort to get to the bar, where Kise was already trying to sweet talk one of the newer guys into giving “these regulars” a good discount.

“What’s the hardest drink you have?” Akashi asked as soon as he’d elbowed his way through the throng.

“Um?” said the waiter.

“Okay,” said Akashi. “One round of those, please.”

Kise grinned. “You’re dealing with this well.”

Akashi chuckled as he threw a few bills down on the counter. “I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet.”

Kise nodded. “Even when it does, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he shouted over the music.

The waiter dropped the tray on bartop, and Akashi wasted no time downing one of the shots on it. _Now_ Kise looked worried, and it was Akashi’s turn to grin wolfishly at him. “I do have a plan.”

So Drink Number One saw Akashi back at their table, the Miracles listening rapt to his outline of how to win back his wealth and his share in the Akashi group of companies. “And I _know_ which projects are financed by debt, and which are financed by equity, I _know,_ and so does everyone else, but what they don’t know is that those CFOs have no idea what they’re doing. They’re _amateurs_ ; L&L Co. is huge, yes, but I don’t know how Father let them slip, now the net present values of these projects…”

“Shit, this sounds pretty serious,” Kagami said. “I mean, I don’t know a thing about business, but shit.”

“You can’t really say that the share price will move that way in this economy, can you?” Momoi shot back, before realizing what she’d said.

“To my hostile buyout of the Akashi group of companies.” Akashi raised his glass, smiling vindictively.

 “I’ll drink to that,” Aomine called, signaling someone for another round.

So Drink Number Two saw Akashi’s vision lagging. But goodness, the things he’d noticed. The little flaws in his masterplan that he corrected. That guy dealing drugs in the corner. The way Aomine glanced at Momoi’s breasts appreciatively whenever she wasn’t paying attention. The way Takao gave Akashi the finger as he sucked a hickey into Midorima’s long neck. Okay, so maybe he was _supposed_ to notice that one. But Akashi wasn’t so happy with Drink Number Two, because it came with a few feelings, like, _why would Father kick me out when he_ knows _I’m literally the only hope for the Akashi group of companies?_ And _what does he even think my sexual preferences have to do with how well I function as an individual?_ And _if he sells my cars I swear to god…_

“One more round?” Kise asked, trying to physically stop Akashi’s scowl from deepening by putting a finger where his forehead creased.

Akashi rubbed his forehead. “Yes, good.”

Now Drink Number Three found Akashi at an entirely different table, nearer the stage. He couldn’t entirely remember what happened between then and now, except now he was leaned in near some girl, saying, “Yeah, I have a horse. A white horse. Her name is Yuukimaru.”

There was a commotion building around the mic. Akashi tried to crane his head to look, but the girl brought his attention back to her with fluttering eyelashes and questions about Yuukimaru, definitely one of his favorite topics.

Akashi tried to focus on the girl. She wasn’t bad looking. A pixie cut definitely looked good on her, with cute bangs hanging around the inquisitive arch of her brows and bright eyes. Akashi leaned in closer to hear her as the clamor around them increased in volume, eventually just decided to read her plump lips. It would definitely be easier to steer Akashi Industries out of the dirt if he brought this girl home instead, if he just leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his mouth against hers…

“Uh, hi, yeah, sorry, so I’m—“

The voice on the mic cut through the haze around Akashi.

Somewhere behind him, Momoi shrieked in delight. “It’s--! It’s--!”

Akashi turned slowly to face the stage. The lights washed out the man’s face, but Akashi’d know that stance anywhere.

“Hey?” the girl asked him.

“Sorry,” Akashi said simply and got up to join Kuroko and Kise where they were gaping at the stage.

Up close, Akashi could see the grimace on his face. He could see the grey eyes blown wide and worried, gazing far across the bar to the Aomine and Momoi duo cheering and yelling things like “Yoooo!” and “Dad! Team Dad!” Murasakibara waved a spare wafer stick in the air like a lighter at a concert, though there wasn’t any music yet. Right in front of stage, what looked like a group of friends restarted the chanting, “Shuuzou, Shuuzou, Shuuzou!”

“This was a bad idea,” Nijimura said into the mic. “I gotta go—“

“Shuuzou, Shuuzou, Shuuzou,” Kuroko joined, clapping in time with the rest of the bar.

“Nijimura-san!” Kise waved. Nijimura caught sight of him and visibly paled under the stage lights. His grip looked as if it’d break his guitar’s neck.

Then he met Akashi’s eyes.

Suddenly Akashi was thirteen again, staring at the white tiles in the Teiko showers, trying desperately not to turn his head. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath shallow. Behind him he could hear Nijimura singing softly, sweetly, crooning, getting dressed, and Akashi tried so hard not to think about it and in his brain was a litany of _what is this, what is this, what is this_ in time with the stuttering of his heart.

Akashi suddenly remembered he had to breathe and gulped in air greedily, trying not to stumble backwards. Nijimura swallowed. Akashi realized he’d spaced out long enough that Nijimura was starting to strum gently, and his friends in front hooted and cawed as—much to Akashi’s horror—Nijimura began to sing.

Akashi felt a flare of irrational anger. Nijimura Shuuzou was back. Nijimura Shuuzou was arguably the reason Akashi was in this situation right now. Nijimura Shuuzou was back, and he was still tall and beautiful. He shook some hair out of his eyes, and Akashi had to dig his fingernails into his palm. Nijimura Shuuzou was here.

“… _It’s my mistake.”_

And he could still sing.

Akashi was bitter to the bone. _Seriously?_ He asked himself as heart fluttered in his chest. Akashi needed another drink.

“ _And only fools fall for you—“_

“Akashi-kun.” Kuroko was at his elbow.

“ _Only fools,”_ Nijimura crooned. Akashi agreed wholeheartedly.

“Drink Number Four,” Akashi managed to say flatly.

Kuroko understood.

 

 

And it was presumably after Drink Number Four, Five and Six that Akashi woke up back on Mibuchi’s couch when his phone buzzed next to his ear. He blinked away dreams of planning, of catching Midorima’s eyes, of the cool metal of the microphone stand in between his hands and picked it up.

The time read 5:47am. The text from Aomine Daiki read, “ _We can never go back.”_

Akashi dropped his head back into the couch. He did not want to find out why.

 

 


	2. high hopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akashi is awkward but still better at living the Simple Life than everyone else. Also maybe he'll get to see Nijimura more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> I also just wanted to tell everyone that I REALLY appreciate all the kudos and comments you left! Especially the comments, my goodness. Every one of them warmed my heart and made me so happy; I promise I'll do the best I can with this fic for all of you.

“It’s so great to have another intern around!” Misaki-san chimed, leading Akashi around that Wednesday at his new job at Shirofuku Records. “Not many people our age are interested in the kind of music we produce here. If they are, they’re only ever here because we manage Nase Daisuke.”

Akashi smiled politely at an older man who looked like he was trying to place him before turning back to Misaki. “You enjoy classical music, Misaki-san?”

“Do I ever,” she warbled. They had come roundabout to the break room now, where she gestured for Akashi to reach the mugs in the cupboard for her. This girl was seriously tiny. “I mean, I guess I love all kinds of music, but I’ve been playing the flute since I was a kid, so-o..”

“You also sound like you sing a great deal,” Akashi noted, pressing the buttons to two different coffee makers at the same time.

Misaki reached over and pressed an extra one. “Okubo-san likes theirs a little extra frothy. And how did you _know?_ ” she asked Akashi, eyes wide and sparkling.

Akashi laughed. “Just a hunch.”

“Well, Akashi-kun—oh, thank you,” she said as Akashi scooped up an extra mug for her. “Anyway, I would have never placed someone with their very own company as someone who would intern here.”

“It’s my father’s company, not mine,” Akashi said gently. It was true enough, and Akashi had to resist the urge to laugh at his own wit. “I’ve played the violin and piano since I was four, though.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful! I would love to hear you play sometime, Akashi-kun,” she smiled. “Oh, and Nijimura-san—“

And here Akashi froze.  How did she _know_?

Akashi was back at the bar, that damn karaoke dive, watching Nijimura’s slender hips sway to his strumming. Akashi was downing a shot as the crowd cheered for an encore. He was watching his first ever (very gay) crush dive bomb his way back into his life, and there was nothing he could do about it but hope they’d never meet again and hope he’d quit having these _damn flashbacks_ —

Maybe it was a different Nijimura. The large rational part of Akashi’s brain told him to unfreeze and find out.

But there, looking like a deer caught in his and Misaki’s headlights was Nijimura Shuuzou. He was bent over nearly double, trying to keep a ream of sheet music from falling apart in his hands.

_That sheet music looks like my life_ , Akashi noted wryly as a few loose leaves fell slowly through the air.

Akashi could feel the remnants of his poorly made breakfast rising back up his throat.

 

 

The week had started simple enough. The first order of business that Monday morning had been breakfast.

                It’d been two days since Miracles Night, and Akashi Seijuurou had been very lucky thus far: over the course of the weekend Mibuchi and fiancée Sato had set out quite an impressive spread of food for the three of them. Squid, sausages, mackerel, bacon, chicken katsu—you name it, Akashi had eaten it in what he swore was _not_ an effort to eat his feelings. Now, though, on a Monday morning when Akashi’s adoptive parents had to rush off to work and Akashi’s only class for the day was the 4:30-6:00 pm before practice, he couldn’t help the twinge of apprehension mixing in with the almighty hunger that moved his feet to the Mibuchis’ pristine kitchen on autopilot.

The note Akashi clutched in his hand was encouraging enough—“ _Sei-chan, there’s food in the fridge~”_ —but still Akashi set his laptop down gently on the kitchen island. His heart beat a little loud, a little painfully in his chest as he gripped the fridge handle. He was accomplished in a great many things, but cooking was not one of them.

_But you are abso—_

_Shut up,_ Akashi hissed at him. _I just want to be careful_.

And true enough it wasn’t long before the eggs were sizzling in the pan and Akashi was brave enough to multitask. He took the bread out of the fridge and dropped two pieces in to brown them. Toast would have to do for today. The rice cooker had looked tempting, but Akashi decided to leave that for another day after he’d seen Mibuchi use the thing first.

And so Akashi ate his meager breakfast in peace, going through the messages in his inbox. He’d sent out his resume on Saturday, as soon as the killer hangover had faded to a dull throb in the back of his head. He’d chosen jobs a million industries away from what he’d normally be doing at the Akashi group of companies, just for—in Kise’s words— _funsies_. He went through their replies now in distaste. His top choice wasn’t even hiring, and while there were many other firms happy to grant _the_ Akashi Seijuurou an interview, most of the schedules for their part time jobs didn’t jive with his.

He replied to each firm briefly and courteously, only confirming four for his interviews, eating the eggs slowly as he went. Funsies, he reminded himself. He hadn’t confirmed appointments with a bunch of recording studios just because he had a stupid melody from two days ago still swimming around in his head. As soon as he’d finished that (and finished quickly he had), he sat back and pulled up a reading he’d been slowly making his way through for class. It hadn’t even been ten minutes before the replies came in— _ping!—_ one after the other, all telling Akashi that they were looking forward to seeing him the next day. Just as Akashi was about to close the tab, another message came in from the realtor about a few studio-type apartments he might be interested in. Then he’d taken the time to check the stock market, and was pleased to find his shares trading at acceptable prices.

That’s when Akashi had sat back and sighed.

The apartment had been quiet in return.

Akashi had realized his personal tasks for the day were finished. There was no violin lesson like when he seven, no daughter of Mr. So-and-So to show around the gardens like when he was fourteen, and now no price charts and project diagrams to look over like his father had him doing recently.

Akashi chewed absently on a piece of toast.

He shrugged. He leaned forward again and began clacking at his keys. An hour later, at 11:00 am, he’d emailed an article about privilege and the difference a few extra Yen made to a youth magazine that had enthusiastically replied to him fifteen minutes later, promising to publish his contribution for a good Y2000. Akashi cracked his knuckles and considered the morning well spent.

Before he’d taken the dishes to the sink, though, he checked the _Easy and Delicious Scrambled Eggs Recipe_. No wonder it had left a weird taste in his mouth—he’d forgotten the salt.

 

 

Had he forgotten the salt again today? He wondered, bemusedly watching Misaki put her coat on.

Maybe I should just keep it hard boiled, Akashi thought, feeling more and more like his stomach was rejecting scrambled eggs altogether. Beside him—close, _too close—_ Nijimura bounced on his heels.

“I have to meet my sister for lunch.” Misaki clapped her tiny hands together. “Pray for me!”

“Will do,” Nijimura replied. Akashi nodded gravely.

“And you,” she hissed between her teeth at Nijimura. Nijimura stood at attention. “You take care of Akashi-kun. Don’t lose him like you did Rin-chan.”

“Duly noted.”

Misaki nodded, looking convinced. “I’ll see you both later,” she sang, and turned on her heels.

“C’mon,” said Nijimura. He started slinking away from Misaki’s desk. “We can buy our lunch downstairs and eat on the roof.”

“Isn’t it cold?” Akashi managed to ask, his voice sounding like it belonged to somebody else.

“Not really. There’s this thing,” Nijimura replied over his shoulder, as if that cleared everything up.

So they bought their lunch in silence save for Nijimura’s humming and the Other-Akashi yelling at himself to man up and make conversation. But Akashi had always been good at small talk, good at reading situations, and he knew this wasn’t the time. Nijimura certainly thought the same. It seemed Nijimura was waiting until the roof to talk, if he was going to talk to him at all. But Akashi also definitely knew Nijimura (or at least he took pride in that back in middle school), and it seemed that Nijimura had something on his mind, if the way he nearly jumped away from all human contact was any indicator at all.

Besides, though, what would Akashi say? “I’m sorry for your loss”? He’d already said that, years ago, in an email that sounded way too impersonal.

A few minutes later, sandwich in hand, was when Nijimura introduced Akashi to the thing on the roof.

“It’s a generator,” Akashi said, deadpan.

“Is it?” Nijimura laughed. The sound made Akashi want to melt into a puddle, or throw himself off the edge of this building. “Aren’t those usually louder and smellier?”

Akashi circled it. He couldn’t help the small smile on his face. “I think this one is solar powered.”

Nijimura whistled. “Nice. I think I’ll call this one Sunny.”

Akashi settled himself in the spot on the ground that Nijimura had patted. Akashi made a resolution to start wearing slightly less expensive pants if they were going to be doing this often.

_Don’t,_ he suddenly warned himself. He swallowed hard. _Don’t set yourself up thinking you’re going to be seeing him more._

_But we work in the same building,_ he shot back. _For the same company. Of all the firms in Tokyo either of us could have interned in, we had to end up in the same one. What is this but a sign? What else is there to do but try to make this happen?_

_What else is there to do?_ The venom in his own thoughts was striking. _You have to win back a company, that’s what you have to do._

“Look, Akashi.”

Akashi jumped out of his own head.

“This isn’t… this isn’t your first time eating cafeteria food, is it?”

Akashi glanced down at his sandwich.

“I honestly can’t remember if you used to buy food from the Teiko cafeteria, or if you used to bring a bento.”

Finally Akashi laughed. Ridiculous. “Just a little lost today, sorry. And I used to have the spicy ramen at Teiko all the time.”

 “God, what I’d give for more of that spicy ramen. But this sandwich is pretty good too.”

Akashi copied Nijimura and took a big a bite as he could muster. He was right; the sandwich was good, and Akashi realized he was starving beyond the very strong urge to throw up where he sat. “I have to ask you, Nijimura-san. How did you end up here?”

“Ah, well, you know how it is.”

“I really don’t,” Akashi chuckled.

Nijimura shot back a small smile, and Akashi felt Cupid’s arrow strike his heart true.

_Fuck_ , he thought. _I’m really corny._

 “Well, I was finishing up school in the States, and I decided to take a semester abroad. Here. And get a job. That I liked.”

“At a recording company that’s known for classical music?”

“Yeah, well, they manage Nase Daisuke, and he’s a pretty big deal.” Nijimura swallowed his mouthful and smiled. “And High Pitch Records wasn’t hiring.”

Akashi nodded, nose wrinkled. “They told me the same thing. And here I thought Shimada Kaede just had it out for me personally.”

“I don’t think I should be this surprised you know Shimada Kaede personally.”

Akashi shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich. Shimada Kaede wasn’t a person he particularly enjoyed knowing. But there was no denying that High Pitch Records, the branch of the Shimada group of companies that she had taken on years ago, was a powerhouse of accomplished artists and idols. He personally couldn’t see Nijimura with a small microphone curved around his cheek while he sang and danced in nothing but dark pants and a leather jacket, but that’s probably not what he was after… right?

“So the million dollar question now: What is the successor to the entire Akashi group of companies doing here?”

There was a pause in their conversation as Akashi wondered if Nijimura knew at all, if the rumors flying were strong enough to reach the public’s ears. As far as he knew, his father hadn’t disclosed any information to the press or even the board of directors yet; something like his son’s disentitlement could send confidence in the Akashi group of companies plummeting. Akashi thought it odd that an innocent question should be phrased just like that, though. Suddenly his view of Nijimura, the view of early morning sunlight and hopeful gray eyes, shifted to one clouded with suspicion.

Akashi decided to answer honestly. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone, but I am no longer the heir to the Akashi estate.”

Nijimura stared. “What?”

“I’ve been disowned,” Akashi said, poker-faced. He risked a sideways glance at Nijimura and found comfort in the too-genuine wide eyes, the mouth floundering for words and the cheeks blossoming with red because holy shit what a terrible thing to ask.

“You’re not kidding!” Nijimura finally said after a while.

“I don’t think I’d joke about this,” Akashi replied as soon as he had swallowed. “I have a plan to buy my way back into the company, but for now, I need a job. And , well, a house, and a new life.”

“Akashi, I’m so sorry. But you seem to be doing… okay?”

Akashi shrugged again. “I’ve been better,” he said pleasantly. “And I do actually like classical music.”

Nijimura hummed appreciatively. “That I remember. You’ll enjoy it here.”

“And you don’t?” asked Akashi, a little relieved at the shift in topic. Not that he was particularly sad or anything—just angry. He definitely didn’t enjoy seeing Akashi Industries barreling towards the gap in the tracks just because he wasn’t there anymore.

“I’ll never meet Nase Takaya” was Nijimura’s reply.

“Nase Daisuke’s wife…?”

“I’m not some Nase fanboy, Akashi,” NIjimura said hurriedly, his voice a low grumble. “Nase Takaya writes his songs. I’m a big fan of her work.”

The images of Nijimura waving a giant I <3 NASE sign in the air at a concert faded away quickly, as did the images of Nijimura in the short shorts, jean vest and roller-skates of the 90s wannabe teen idol. “Ah, I understand. You’re writing songs now too.”

Nijimura grumbled a little more, nodding. “I mean, I was probably better at basketball than this, but this is fine too.”

“You’re great at basketball,” Akashi supplied quickly, vehemently. “And I’m sure you’re good at composing songs as well. You’re definitely very good at singing them.”

NIjimura started. Then he paused, as if floundering for words, and suddenly Akashi was sure he had said something very wrong.

_What if he saw me looking at him in the Teiko locker rooms,_ Akashi thought. _I have approximately six seconds to make it to the edge of the roof and—_

“Look, Akashi,” Nijimura said. His voice was different from earlier, lower, carrying more gravitas and more sobrieties.  “About the thing at the bar the other day…”

Akashi blinked. He replayed his memories of Miracles Night in double time, trying to find the thing that Nijimura might have latched on to. “Yes?” he stalled.

“Well… You don’t… I mean, I appreciate the…” Nijimura gripped at the air, eyeing Akashi as if he expected him to supply the rest of his words and save him.

They hadn’t interacted, had they? There had only been the meeting of eyes and the unpleasant flashback and then—Akashi blanked. _Oh. No._ He literally blanked. The memories had gotten steadily blurrier after Drink Number Four, until there was a large _blank,_ a plain blackout, between Drink Number Six and Aomine’s text at 6 am.

_We can never go back,_ Aomine had texted.

_Why_ , Akashi whispered back in his head.

But now Nijimura had begun to stare. Then the smile spread slowly on his face. “Damn. You don’t remember, do you?”

“What did I do.” It wasn’t a question. It was a breath that made its way out of Akashi unbidden while he felt his stomach drop and his soul float out of his body. His grip on the sandwich had become very, very flimsy. His hands felt cold. Nijimura only chuckled in reply.

“What did I do,” he said again, and even now it still wasn’t a question, more of a demand as Akashi’s fingers curled into his pants leg.

“Check Google,” Nijimura whispered as he looked away.

_Google._ Akashi’s jaw dropped. Before he knew it his hands were flying over the screen of his smartphone, typing his own name into a search box. His heart was pounding against his ribcage at a million miles an hour before it finally came to an abrupt stop.

Buzzfeed.

_The Generation of Miracles’ Drunkest Performance Yet_

Akashi felt all the blood rush out of his head. His other self was at the very front of his consciousness, so much so his vision was threatening to turn red and gold, so much so that he could hear loud and clear his own seething voice whispering, “ _End them._ ”

_Even if you’re not into basketball, you probably know who the Generation of Miracles are. You know—colorful hair, Gatorade billboards, all really,_ really _hot and complete monsters on the college competitive scene? You’ve probably also already seen members Aomine Daiki and Kise Ryouta’s thrilling karaoke performances in the past. Bow. Down._

_As if Aomine and Kise’s karaoke wasn’t already too much to handle, we now have a true miracle, ladies and gentlemen: all five boys up on stage, drunk as_ frick, _singing their hearts out to the Rupert Holmes classic—_ Escape.

Akashi slowly closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. After a beat of meditation born of complete, total appalment, he opened them again and continued reading.

_Whoever this “Nijimura-san” is, they are one lucky duck to have Miracles Captain Akashi Seijuurou dedicating a song to them._

Akashi just stared at the screen. Slowly, ever so slowly, he closed his eyes again. He counted to ten. He could now feel the blood rushing back to his face, turning him so unpleasantly warm. He wanted the ground to swallow him up whole, but the ground didn’t deserve this. After a lifetime of suave raised up around Chardonnay, Merlot and Asti, he, the great Akashi Seijuurou, had fallen victim to some backwater karaoke dive’s hardest drink.

He started up two prayers in his head. One: _Please. Do not let Father ever see this._

Two: _Please let Nijimura Shuuzou have amnesia when I open my eyes._

There was barely any strength left in Akashi’s fingers when he pressed play.

He first noticed that Kuroko was nowhere to be found. That bastard. Next, Akashi took note of Midorima on the keyboard, squinting at chords and notes. Murasakibara was a tree in the background, swaying out of time with the music. Aomine and Kise introduced the group, yelling into their microphones, before Akashi himself yelled out, “ _This one’s for you, Nijimura-san_!”

“ _I got tired of my lady. We’d been together too long.”_

Aomine took the opening verse. Kise took over soon after. They were good singers. And in the chorus, they sang together, while layered over their harmony was Akashi’s discordant, tone deaf screeching, like one of the cries of the older generations of Pokemon, like a newborn baby, like, like—

“ _IF YOU LIKE PINACOLADAS! OR GETTING CAUGHT IN THE RAIN!”_

_We can never go back_. Aomine’s words echoed in his head.

Akashi watched the entire video. He closed the window as soon as it had ended. He opened his messaging app and shot of a quick text that read, _I had no recollection whatsoever of our karaoke stunt the other night._

Kuroko’s reply was faster than lightning. _Where are you seeing this?_

_Buzzfeed._

_They have the most comprehensive write up on the performance_ , Kuroko replied. _But not the worst nor the best_.

_Thank you. I’m glad I didn’t miss anything else about it,_ Akashi typed out sarcastically, before remembering that Nijimura was actually _there_.

Nijimura had his lips pursed. He was trying to hold in his laughter, his shoulders beginning to shake.

_I speak four languages,_ Akashi lamented, because when in his life had he ever floundered for words like this? _I speak four languages. I play concerto-level violin. I passed Grade Six piano. I can break ankles left and right and I decided to_ sing for him?

Akashi took a good, long look at Nijimura. Akashi’s secret was out—for all his achievements, hard work and outright splendor, Akashi Seijuurou could not sing.

(Or cook, but that isn’t anything Nijimura needed to know, if he could help it.)

“So…” Akashi was reaching around in the dark here now. “Do you like pinacoladas?”

Suddenly Nijimura tipped his head back and let out a laugh, pure and clear and ringing. To Akashi, it was like the sun peeking through the clouds on an overcast day. The storm forming inside of him was suddenly cleared, and there was only Nijimura, the brightness of his smile, the light in his eyes and the colors growing clearer and brighter around Akashi as he thought of what he’d give and what he’d do to keep seeing this.

Nijimura was grinning at him. “Sorry you had to find out like this. It’s alright, though, really. I really appreciate it.”

“Wha… really?” At first Akashi thought Nijimura would pick up on the stuttering he was explicitly taught not to do as a child, but all Nijimura seemed to be doing was smiling and pulling Akashi deeper into the bottomless pit of _like-liking_ him.

“Yes. I mean, I didn’t even tell you guys I’d be coming back, and you were all cool about it. I was actually surprised you were all relatively happy to see me,” he said.

Akashi blinked. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Nijimura just shrugged. Then he glanced at his watch. “Well, we’d better get back.”

“Yes,” Akashi said deadpan.

“But I owe you guys a round for that performance, okay? And for sneaking back to Japan on the sly.”

“We look forward to it.”

“Oh, and tell me if you need help moving into that new apartment of yours,” he said as he turned around.

“Will do,” said Akashi.

Akashi’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Kise in the _[star-emoji][heart emoji][sparkle emoji]~GENERATION OF MIRACLES~[sparkle emoji][heart emoji][star-emoji]_ groupchat, declaring he had found a new bar that was just the right combination of classy and shady.

_Not a minute too soon_ , Akashi thought as he watched Nijimura—all of him—slink back into the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Again, I'm mizoguchiest on Tumblr if you guys have things to say hehehe


	3. wanting it all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nijimura did say he'd help with moving in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *is a double major. shows up with one of my bachelor's degrees earned*  
> so that's what happened, forgive me. I don't deserve the wonderful comments you've all left, but I want you all to know that it really lights up my day and keeps me going! I've been insecure about my writing lately so putting this chapter up is kind of a struggle, but please do not hesitate to tell me what I can do to improve and keep this fic going for you all. Thank you so much!

A gasp at his ear. The press of another chest against his own. A hand bracing for balance against his hip, his own hand curling around the fabric of a shirt.

The world spun, a blur of colors too bright and vibrant for Akashi to make any real sense of.

Time slowed, and then he was falling.

With an impact that knocked the wind out of him, Akashi finally landed on his back, Nijimura on top. They stared into each other's eyes for disconcerting moments, breathing hard until the stars finally cleared from their vision and all they saw was each other. Around Nijimura's head was a halo of sunlight, his wide eyes glowing like fresh rain. Akashi blinked, mystified.

Horror slowly etched itself on Nijimura's face. "Oh, god, Akashi..."

And Akashi groaned around the intense thudding of his heart because really, this situation would have been a thousand times more ideal if Nijimura hadn't just accidentally tackled him tripping up the stairs, sending the boxes flying every which way like blood at a murder. Articles of Akashi's clothing were strewn around them now, a jacket resting on top of Nijimura's own and good lord that was his _underwear_ on the ground only a meter away.

"What happened?" Mibuchi’s voice carried through the open apartment door. _Please, don't make anything worse-_ -"A _boy_ , Sei-chan?!"

_Jesus._

Akashi Seijuurou, once-heir to the formidable Akashi group of companies, was now becoming very used to being brutally humiliated in front of the one, the only, the fabulous Nijimura Shuuzou.

"Are you okay?" Momoi was at his ear now, helping a dazed Nijimura off of him and actively trying to determine if he was alive or not.

" _Hnng_ ," said Akashi.

"Fuck.” Nijimura knelt and grasped both Akashi's shoulders, pulling him up to sit. _Don’t throw up on him_. “Akashi, I’m so sorry. Are you—“

"Don't worry about it," Akashi managed, getting shakily to his knees. Nijimura was already in action, indiscriminately stuffing clothes back into a box. Momoi wasn't far from them, picking things up off the ground as well.

"Geez, I come late as hell and end up nearly killing you--"

"But Yoichi, Sei-chan's got a boy out there!"

"Reo, there is literally a men's basketball team _in here_ \--"

Then Nijimura's gaze was sliding off of the clothes and moving towards the (slyly) smiling figures posed against the doorframe of Akashi's new place. If Akashi weren't so dizzy he would have already drop kicked those two all the way back to their own damn apartment.

"Sei-chan, won’t you introduce us?" Mibuchi asked sweetly.

_Note to self: invest in better foster parents._ Akashi’s voice was almost lost in his throat. “Sato-san, Mibuchi-san, this is Nijimura Shuuzou. We played basketball together in middle school, and now we work together at Shirofuku.”

Mibuchi gasped, grinning. “So this Nijimura-kun we’ve been hearing so much about!”

“That’s a lie,” Akashi said quickly.

Nijimura smiled awkwardly from the floor, his hand caught in a wave.

“Akashi-kun’s been going on and on about you,” Sato chimed in, mirroring Mibuchi’s grin.

“I’ve barely seen either of you all week,” Akashi said as he wondered if it was too late to un-plan their wedding. The blush rising in his neck was warm enough to melt the polar icecaps.

“Now, now, Sei-chan, no need to be shy! There’s no harm in a little crush,” said Mibuchi.

Akashi lifted an eyebrow, then, saying, “My last ‘little crush’ got me disinherited, Mibuchi-san.”

Silence. Then Nijimura let out a sudden snort while Sato seemed to choke on his, leaving Mibuchi looking like he stepped on a landmine.

And finally Akashi got a grip on the fact that the one and only Nijimura Shuuzou was kneeling there in his street clothes, a dark scarf wrapped around his long neck, a little dusting of frost on his dark hair. He was well and truly smiling now, bright and easy, and if that wasn’t enough to warm Akashi from head to toe, he didn’t know what was. He was barely short of bracing himself against the wall as he basked in the full color, the high definition of this reality, heart fluttering against his ribcage all the while.

He honestly didn’t know if it was healthy to be on cloud nine for as long as he had been. Since their lunch on the roof, there was the rest of Wednesday that he’d spent at the desk across Nijimura, which was fantastic. There was the Thursday morning he and Nijimura had gone and printed sheet music together, which was even better. There was Thursday afternoon when he’d calmly dragged Nijimura away from his death path towards Sasekura Rin-chan, and that was much better than even better . Then there was smart casual Friday and Akashi didn’t even know how to describe what that was like. Literally no words would form in his head, only the image of the way Nijimura’s polo shirt stretched across his back.

But it wasn’t like Akashi had a shortage of all this at Teiko. Hell, Akashi’d spend days on end at Nijimura’s side as vice-captain. One of the small blessings of his middle school years had been seeing Nijimura _naked_. No -- what put Akashi on such a high this time, what had him shooting out of bed (couch) in the morning and smiling pleasantly when he arrived at work was the easy conversation that flowed between them, the conspiratorial looks they shot each other when Misaki sucked in a breath to give Rin another long-winded sermon, the way Nijimura stood next to him like they were both characters in that strange stageplay where everyone between eighteen and twenty-six didn’t get a copy of the script. There was the years’ worth of stories that were exchanged over sandwich lunches near the generator Sunny, there was catching up and filling each other in and drinking up each other’s lives abroad in the mutual, breathtaking realization that _they had missed each other_.

Akashi remembered what missing Nijimura had felt like at first. There was the hollowness in his chest, the emptiness that would overtake him as he lay in bed at night. There was the regret, the _maybe I should’ve said something_ kind, that had him staring off into space every now again, thinking about what it would’ve been like. Then a basketball would shoot by his vision and Akashi would pick himself back up, until that day he saw his hands and knees forced onto the polished wooden floor and _he_ had taken over, drowning out everything but the hunt, the pursuit of nothing less than victory. On that roof, though, listening to Nijimura talk about something as menial as his sister’s high school graduation, Akashi realized he was like an indoor plant, just now thriving under a brighter source of sunlight he didn’t even know he needed.

_Send help_ , his brain commanded. But Momoi was busy sorting his clothes into neat piles once again and the other boys were probably busy burning down the new apartment, and Akashi was at the mercy of Mibuchi and Sato and most of all Nijimura. They were shaking hands now, and much to Akashi’s alarm, the glint in Mibuchi’s eyes was a little cold and sinister. “I do remember a game against you in middle school, Nijimura Shuuzou.”

Nijimura’s smile turned wolfish. “So do I.”

“A-alright. We have to get going,” Sato chuckled nervously, lightly taking Mibuchi’s arm. Mibuchi almost resisted, but something about Sato’s telling gaze said, _Your parents will kill me if I’m ever late to coffee with them again._

 Mibuchi looked torn, but made a move after his fiancé. “Will you be okay, Sei-chan? You know all the emergency numbers right? You have to be careful! Please text us! Don’t forget to call, and visit—“

“Akashi-kun, thank you for everything.”

“Thank you both for all your help, and all your hospitality,” said Akashi, bowing low. Despite their brand of tough love Akashi felt a pang _._

“Don’t be a stranger, Sei-chan!”

“Of course. I will visit soon,” Akashi promised, waving, as he watched them retreat down the hallway. Nijimura dipped his head in a small bow as they passed.

“Sei-chan!” Mibuchi practically screeched now as Sato pulled him along to the stairs. “Remember to always use protection—“

“Jesus, Reo!” and that was that.

Akashi closed his eyes and counted to five. When he opened them again the blush was high in Nijimura’s cheeks and from the way he’d suddenly become so interested in his hands, it probably wasn’t just from the cold.

_Now he believes I’m out to fuck him senseless._

Akashi rethought this. _I mean, I am, but…_

Again, where were people like Momoi in his desperate time of need? Akashi whipped his head around looking, only to find her poised contemplatively over the things that had spilled out of the boxes.

"Kuroko, come here," Momoi commanded. And there he was, the one other person who could probably salvage the situation. Kuroko gave a muffled gasp as Momoi brought the sky blue pair of briefs up to his hair and said, “Yep. These are definitely kind of blue.”

“They weren’t to begin with?” Kuroko asked innocently.

“These were all white last time I checked,” Momoi confirmed.

“Last time you checked?” Aomine emerged from the apartment then, scowling. He huffed as he hefted a box into his arms and said, “That’s a weird fuckin’ thing to say, Satsuki.”

Momoi shrugged from the floor. Akashi wanted to roll his eyes back into his head because at least _he_ knew who he was really fucking in love with—

Wait— _in love_?

“They’re _still_ not together?” Nijimura whispered. It seemed any embarrassment he’d felt earlier had been wiped away by the sheer indifference of the Generation of Miracles.

Akashi blinked, floundered, but thankfully caught up fast. Years of singlehandedly parenting the Miracles had desensitized him to the Aomine and Momoi Phenomenon a little, but he could see Nijimura’s paternal urges kicking back into overdrive as he tracked the chaos back into the apartment.

“They have no idea at all,” Akashi sighed.

That’s when Aomine chose to announce, loudly enough that it echoed down the hall, “Hey, Nijimura-senpai’s here! And, guys, look, Akashi fucked up his underwear. Show ‘em, Satsuki.”

Akashi heaved a resigned sigh. “I’m going to stop them from going through my underwear.”

“By all means, let me help,” Nijimura said with a worrying crack of knuckles. But just as Nijimura started toward the open door, a long arm seemed to snake its way out of the apartment and settle itself across his shoulders. Nijimura barely had time to turn back to Akashi— _help!_ – before Kise had dragged in him and claimed him as his first victim of the night.

Akashi took a deep breath and dove in after him.

“How did Akachin manage this shade of blue?” Murasakibara wondered, peering down his own pants. “He’s better than us even at fucking up laundry.”

“Bruh,” Aomine chuckled, scooting over so Murasakibara could see the shade of pink his boxers had turned.

“Happens to the best of us,” Kise smirked, tugging the garter of mottled blue and grey Calvin Kleins above the waistband of his jeans. Unfortunately, he still had his other arm around Nijimura’s shoulders, and was immediately subjected to a scathing glare.

“Put those back where they belong, Kise.”

“Nijimura-senpai! I’m just trying to show that even those of us who have been responsible for ourselves for longer mess up our laundry from time to time too.” (And that didn’t really make Akashi feel any better. He settled elegantly into an armchair, acquiescent.)

If it were possible, though, Nijimura’s eyes narrowed even more as the look he gave Kise turned sourer. “’Responsible for yourself’? Kise, I heard you got into a drunken brawl with the setter of the National Volleyball Team.”

Kise’s jaw dropped. “How--?”

“Could you really call that a brawl?” Kuroko asked Momoi on the side. “They were just messing up each other’s hair until Kise finally rushed him.”

“Aaaah, okay, well,” said Kise, lifting his arm off of Nijimura’s shoulder and stretching with feigned innocence. His eyes took on a dangerous glint as they turned to Akashi, who was smirking behind his hand. Nijimura fought off a smile too. _Busted_.

Kise continued, scooting away from Nijimura, “Both Setter-kun and I were at fault there, evident in how _both_ of us are now banned from that bar. Isn’t that right, Akashichi?”

The entire Generation of Miracles let out a noncommittal mumble, because nobody really had the heart to tell Kise they go to that bar without him sometimes and still see Mr. Pretty Setter there. It was then that the TV blinked on with a buzz of electricity and Midorima gave a satisfied grunt.

“What are we watching?” Momoi asked breathily. Beside her, Murasakibara started handing out bags of potato chips from the convenience store cellophane. Nijiumura hung his scarf on the pegs Momoi had stuck up and made his way over to sit on the arm of Akashi’s chair.  Akashi hands felt little warmer as they scrambled for somewhere else to rest on.

He watched in amazement, however,  as Midorima pulled a dining chair calmly towards the carpet, observed in awe as Murasakibara hugged the 7-11 bag closer to him, looked on in stupor as Kise sat down petulantly next to him, pouting. Akashi had had to  mother hen them all out of enough potential disasters that the difference Nijimura’s calm, responsible presence had was palpable, and Akashi felt a weight lift off his shoulders and chest as he no longer had to be the Single Mom.

_In love, huh?_

“Dai-chan, if you’ll please,” said Momoi, handing the Kuroko-blue pair of briefs to Aomine, who shot them expertly back into the hamper of clean clothes.

 “I think we should watch Saw Fi—“

_Bzzzz._

The doorbell.

Kise whooped like a child, but it was Akashi and his growling stomach that were already out of his seat and pulling the door open.

It wasn’t pizza, though.

“Seijuurou,” came the tearful greeting from the other side.

Akashi let the situation sink in during the seconds he spent gaping. The plump woman with the light hair held a large box among a few other smaller things; the balding man with salt and pepper hair, dressed in a button down and immaculate slacks even on a Sunday, held his own set of items. They were older, with wrinkles just about setting deeper into their faces, looking a little out of breath from climbing the stairs. They audibly sighed, shoulders slumping in relief, when they saw Akashi standing before them.

“Yamada-san. Nishiya-san,” Akashi greeted, unable to keep the surprised lilt out of his voice.

“Oh, we were so worried!” said Yamada, clutching the giant box she had close to her chest. Akashi made a move to help her set it down, but she said, “No, please, let me!”

“Forgive our intrusion, sir,” Nishiya said, dipping his head in a bow. “We came with a few things we thought you’d need; things that were too fragile to send over.”

“Master Seijuurou, are you alright? Are you hurt? Have you been eating well and taking care of yourself?”

“Y-yes, I’ve been well,” Akashi said, receiving one thing after the other from Nishiya as Yamada tried to peer around him, into the room. “Please, come inside. My friends are here, Yamada-san. Guys, these are Yamada Yuna and Nishiya Naoki. They helped raise me.”

The Miracles waved helpfully from the living room. “Akashi-kun is in good hands!” Momoi smiled, and Akashi could see some of the worry melt off of Yamada’s face. She wiped tears from her eyes as she turned back to Akashi.

“We were so worried,” she said again, and Akashi believed her. “I can’t remember you ever cooking, either, so I took the liberty to cook you food for the week.”

“For the week! Yamada-san, you shouldn’t have. I mean, I’m independent now.” Yet Akashi found himself accepting the insulated bag from her almost greedily, on autopilot.

“Please, Seijuurou, I’d be so worried if anything were to happen to you!”

“Sir, your chess set.”

“Thank you, Nishiya-san. And please, Yamada-san, do not worry,” Akashi smiled, putting all the reassurance he could muster into the gesture. “I am alive and well. I hope all of you at the manor are doing just as fine.”

At this, Nishiya and Yamada exchanged glances. Akashi felt his heart drop out of his chest.

“Why?” he asked, voice going flat. “What’s wrong?”

Yamada spoke in hushed tones. “Your father’s cut the number of household staff by half.”

Akashi sucked in a sharp breath. There were people there who’d been working at the manor since before he was born.

“And your father,” Yamada said, the words coming out choked. She couldn’t seem to meet Akashi’s eyes. “He’s not doing well, dear.”

“Oh?” It left Akashi quietly.

“He’s sad, Seijuurou.” Just now she turned to look at him full on, eyes blown wide and teary and Akashi almost took a step back under the intensity of her gaze. “Seijuurou, he is sad and lost and growing weak, so weak without you—“

“Did he send you?”

Yamada and Nishiya startled. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, ‘did he send you?’” Akashi’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw set a little tighter. The back of his neck ached for the umpteenth time that day, throbbing in time with his quickening pulse.

“No, Seijuurou, we came to check on you—“

“Of course you did,” Akashi spat quietly.

“Seijuurou—“

“And this isn’t some ill-advised plan to get to me talk to him, to stop this ‘debauchery’, to get into counseling and _fix_ myself.”

“Sir,” Nishiya stepped in. His arm moved to hold Yamada gently around her shoulders, and following the action Akashi realized the lady was ghostly pale now, like she hadn’t caught a breath in more than a minute.

“I… I’m sorry,” Akashi stuttered, and he meant it. His fingers grew very cold, fast.

“We came here for you,” Nishiya said, more soft-spoken than he normally was.

“Because we love you,” Yamada added softly, nodding. Akashi accepted another insulated bag of food from her, dazed.

“Your violin, sir.”

Akashi blinked and received the carry case from Nishiya. Why hadn’t he asked for this sooner? His next thought was to open it right away, to fix whatever wasn’t properly packed, but then he realized that Nishiya-san had been accompanying him to his violin lessons ever since he started. The man could probably play the damn thing himself if he really wanted to.

Akashi looked them both over, then: their miserable faces, their tears, and the deeper age lines he didn’t seem to notice on them until today. Then he dipped himself into a low bow, at a precise 90 degree angle that had Yamada and Nishiya gasping and asking him to stop.

“Thank you for everything you have done for me, even though I’ve been difficult at times.” Akashi finally let up from the bow. “But I can’t agree with you.”

“Seijuurou?” Yamada said weakly.

“Father isn’t sad,” Akashi said, surprised at his own wistfulness in saying it. “I’m gay, and he can’t have that.”

“Seijuurou…”

“It must be something else,” Akashi decided, nodding to himself. Yamada and Nishiya looked stricken in front of him. “But whatever it is, Father’s made his decision about me.”

The two knew a dismissal when they faced one. They both bowed deeply to him and thanked him. Akashi nodded in return.

“I still really wish you’d talk to him, Seijuurou,” Yamada said, reaching out, and Akashi allowed himself to be pulled into the hug. His heart ached not knowing if he’d get another one. “I swear, it feels like there’s _something_ both of you are missing about this whole situation.”

“Until either of you figure it out, sir, farewell.”

Nishiya held out his hand to shake. Akashi grasped it firmly, but suddenly they were both gone, and Akashi was left staring down an empty hallway, swamped in a new pile of his stuff.

“Let’s get these inside.”

It was Nijimura, picking up a box labeled ‘tops’, so close to Akashi that Akashi almost caved and melted against him, drained. The brush of his shoulder against his was warm and electric, though, and the calm bravery in Nijiumra’s eyes was enough to get Akashi to pick himself up, to stand up straighter and begin breathing again.

“Sorry, I just didn’t expect that.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Our pizza’s free already if it ever arrives, though,” said Murasakibara helpfully from the couch as he cracked open the DVD case of the Conjuring.

“We shouldn’t watch that,” Kise squeaked as he came over to push boxes into the apartment. “Akashichi has so many closets—“

“Play us a song first,” Kuroko said suddenly.

Akashi realized he was still holding his violin.

“Now that Kuroko’s mentioned it, I’ve never actually heard you play,” Momoi smiled.

“A-ka-shi. A-ka-shi,” Aomine began chanting. Akashi held up his hand, wincing like the chant hurt him because it honestly reminded him too much of that vapid, backwater karaoke dive where he’d made a complete fool of himself.

_A fool, huh?_

Akashi couldn’t help glancing at Nijimura. _Why_ , he asked himself, _why are you like a fourteen-year-old girl looking for senpai’s approval—_

Nijimura waved a hand in front of him, smiling, like saying, _go on_.

Like clockwork, Akashi unpacked his violin. It gleamed, cleaned and oiled as ever. He attached the shoulder rest, tightened his bow and dusted it with rosin with almost mechanical precision, and the instant he tucked it under his chin he felt the day’s worries melt right out of him, replaced by the comfort and relief of something so familiar and sure.

Trust Kuroko to low-key always know what he was doing.

Akashi dragged the bow experimentally across the strings, fine-tuning a little here and there. He clipped the practice mute onto the bridge.

Nijimura was so near him, watching with bated breath.

Akashi was sure then. His first chord was full and unwavering, the opening note to a set of sadder, contemplative chords that had been replaying themselves in his mind since the night he saw Nijimura up on stage, singing.

“Seriously?” Nijimura laughed. Akashi’s heart thudded loudly in his chest. He couldn’t manage a grin with the violin where it was, but he hoped the look he shot Nijimura over the violin’s neck was enough. And clear as the night he waltzed back into his life, Akashi could hear Nijimura’s voice drifting through his memory as he dragged the bow sweetly across the strings, making the violin croon like Nijimura would have.

“ _I am tired of this place, I hope people change,_

_I need time to replace what I gave away,_

_And my hopes, they are high, I must keep them small,_

_Though I try to resist, I still want it all…”_

Akashi received a standing ovation. Though they Generation of Miracles probably would’ve clapped if Akashi had just taken a shit on the strings, he took it upon himself to bow anyway and display the instrument as if he’d won it from one of the Greek Muses themselves.

“You should do _that_ at the bar next time,” Nijimura grinned.

“I have no intention of ever visiting that bar again, thank you,” Akashi shot back, grinning just as wide.

“Or you two could—“

Bzzz!

The Miracles’ attention shifted quickly to the door.

 

* * *

 

“No, no, I insist—I came late; I should help you clean up.”

They set to work quickly, with Akashi taking a cutter to the cardboard around the new fridge while Nijimura took the remaining glasses and began to rinse them. They were barely two minutes into this work when Akashi found his eyes and thoughts wandering. _Domesticity_ , Akashi fantasized as he watched Nijimura run water over the glasses. He simply held the knife stuck in the cardboard, stalled, tilting his head and being mystified by Nijimura’s peaceful effort.

Nijimura turned back to him suddenly, eyebrows lifted. Akashi nearly ran the cutter through his other hand in surprise. “Everything okay there?”

“Yes, sorry.”

Nijimura turned back to the sink. Akashi’s heart pounded. This was going to be very bad; he could feel it already. It was that premonition he got whenever Aomine or Murasakibara was about to do something ill-advised, that mental image of a Pent-Up-Stupidity Volcano that was slowly filled until bad decisions burst out like molten lava from the top. Akashi stabbed the cutter violently downward, stomach beginning to roil.

“ _I am tired of this place, I hope people change,”_ Nijimura started softly.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, Akashi thought, eyes going wide as he ripped the cutter sideways. If this was a Pent-Up-Nijimura-Feelings Volcano, and he needed to get rid of that now, right now.

“ _I need time to replace what I gave away.”_

Akashi pulled away at the rest of the cardboard, exposing the shiny black front of the fridge. He could see Nijimura’s reflection behind him, now taking a dishcloth to the glasses in small circles.

“’And my hopes…’” Akashi felt his voice rise out of his throat almost unbidden.

Now Akashi realized he had a problem. A very big problem. Akashi wanted to be with Nijimura. He wanted _all_ of Nijimura, in his entirety, and Akashi Seijuurou always got what he wanted.

But as Akashi’s hands shakily reached for the rest of the cardboard around the fridge, his insides grew cold with the realization that _want_ wasn’t quite the right word. _Want_ wasn’t what people called it when they dreamed of letting the other person fall asleep in their lap. _Want_ didn’t describe that incredible urge to win the approval of the rest of Nijimura’s family or something.

_Love_ kind of did. Akashi Seijuurou loved Nijimura Shuuzou.

“What was that?” Nijimura asked.

“The lyrics. ‘And my hopes, they are high…’, right?”

Nijimura ducked his head in a nod, singing right at Akashi from under his long eyelashes. “ _And my hopes, they are high, I must keep them small.”_

It was hard to swallow with a throat that had suddenly gone very dry. Akashi feigned calm, turning away with a satisfied nod as heat pooled in his stomach.

 “Look, Akashi.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot these past few days, you know.”

And there it was: the sudden burst of stupidity. Nijimura turned around, blinking owlishly. Akashi faced him head on, unfazed on the outside, feeling a large multitude of instincts screaming at him on the inside. But Akashi couldn’t turn away—that would be weak, and he’d honestly, truly had enough of turning away. Akashi didn’t run away from his decisions.

But he’d also never been more nervous in his life. Facing rejection from his Father had been more than awful, if he was honest with himself. He couldn’t imagine what it might be like, getting it from Nijimura.

“You keep saying, ‘Look, Akashi’, and saying something that I don’t expect to hear after ‘Look, Akashi’,” he plowed on anyway.

“What do you expect to hear after ‘Look, Akashi’?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps what’s been constantly on your mind these past few days.”

“Ah. You mean my versions of the reasons you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length?” Nijimura said, deadpan.

Akashi felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

“I’m sorry,” is what came out of Nijimura next, softly. Akashi couldn’t breathe.

“What?”

“I’m sorry I made you captain so young, Akashi. I’m sorry I left you all. I’m sorry I didn’t check in as often as I should, and I’m sorry I disappeared.” Nijimura clutched at the air as if trying to grab at words that would express his feelings. His eyes were suddenly wide, desperate.

The relief that spread in Akashi’s chest was a stark contrast to that, but it still wasn’t enough. Nijimura wasn’t _getting it._ He was not near _the Point_.

“It’s not that,” Akashi choked out in return. “That’s doesn’t matter anymore.”

Nijimura paused. He was scowling, processing, and his frown did not abate when he began speaking again. “I… I thought so. I know you Akashi, but there’s something on your mind that I can’t exactly pinpoint right now.”

“It’s bothering you,” Akashi said.

“Now that that other thing’s out of the way, yes, it very much is.”

Nijimura stepped closer to him, and it took almost all of Akashi’s willpower not to step back. He looked up at him, straight at his eyes, grey as storm clouds right now.

“I’ve had an inkling,” Nijimura whispered. He was close enough now that Akashi could swear he could feel the breath on his face. “I’ve had an inkling, for a _long time_ , but I’m not very good at this.”

Akashi was fully in Nijimura’s shadow right now. He didn’t like this at all, being at the mercy of someone else. He didn’t like being so out of control around Nijimura Shuuzou, and he knew he had to do something soon to wrest his sanity from the situation once and for all.

Akashi had to know.

“You’ve got to help me out, because I need to know if I’m reading this right,” said Nijimura. “You have to come clean with me, Akashi.”

Akashi grabbed the front of Nijimura’s shirt and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> setter for the national vball team hmm wonder who that is


	4. foolishness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you thought their first date would be anything but weird and 100% offbeat, you were wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, everyone! I just want to thank you all again for your love and comments for this fic!! It really inspires me to keep going!! :(( In line with this, though, please don't hesitate to give me criticism and suggestions as well. I've not been too confident with my writing lately, and would give anything to improve and build consistency and character and storytelling power-- so, please, again, don't hesitate. Especially with the comments on this chapter, which I'm not 100% confident with, either.
> 
> BUT ALSO: THIS COVER OF FOOLS??? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LwVbCIA1hgc

Akashi walked briskly into work that morning with his coat's collar high over his neck, protection from the sudden cold snap that had the city tight in its grasp. He was bundled up better than a newborn child but he didn't even think of shrugging the extra layers off until he reached his desk. It was only after he'd quickly pressed the power button on his work computer that Akashi gave Nijimura a small smile and a nod and began working at the buttons of his own coat, untangling the scarf from his person and pulling the sweater over his head.

His polo shirt came loose from his pants as he did so. He was deftly tucking it back in when suddenly he was aware of a flash of warmth, and of Nijimura's heavy gaze lingering on him.

Akashi's cheeks warmed as he stared back.

"Oh, hell no."

Akashi jumped, nearly knocking a stack of folders off his desk. Nijimura wasn't so lucky-- for probably the nth time in his career at Shirofuku Records, a sheaf of sheet music went flying. As he cursed (very creatively) and snatched paper out of the air, Akashi could only watch as Misaki shifted her gaze between the two of them, her nose wrinkled.

"Misaki-san?"

Misaki breathed in through her nose. "I'm glad you've resolved the sexual tension between you two, really. But tone down the fluff, senpais."

Akashi balked. At his desk, Nijimura held a few measures to his chest, jaw slack.

"How...?" Nijimura began.

"The way you look at him," Misaki sighed, resigned. She dropped her purse at her own desk, the one fronting Nijimura's, and cracked her knuckles as she began to ready for the work day. "Your gaze is like, sticky. And you both have that--" she giggled. "This is ridiculous. But you both have that afterglow."

Nijimura and Akashi finally exchanged a glance. Well, she wasn't wrong.

"So you gotta give us the deets!"

Akashi started in his chair then, recoiling from the face suddenly so close to his own. It was Sasekura Rin, Cheshire grin and everything. Akashi was glad he didn't punch her on reflex; though at her appearance, Nijimura seemed to have regained his voice.

"He's not telling you anything about that, Sasekura!" he growled, a vein throbbing in his temple suddenly. It's eight in the morning, Akashi wanted to warn him.

Sasekura just rolled her eyes. "I don't want _those_ deets--"

"Stop. Saying. ‘ _Deets_ ’," Nijimura ground out, voice dangerously low.

"I want the _details_ ," Sasekura said primly, "of Nijimura-kun's love confession."

"Why do you assume it was me who confessed?" Nijimura huffed, shuffling the sheet music back in order. A sly smile crept onto Misaki's face.

Sasekura's eyes just widened. "Akashi-kun?"

Akashi puffed his cheeks. He sat down heavily in the office swivel chair and avoided Sasekura's eyes at all costs, willing himself not to blush any deeper.

"Oh my god. Tell me everything."

"I'd rather not."

"Did you cry? Were there cherry blossoms?"

"I did not cry, and it's barely February," Akashi said curtly despite himself, the same time the other him also said, _It was always a better idea to end those who have glimpsed your weakness_.

"Look, Sasekura, we're not discussing this with you," Nijimura insisted then, shaking his head. Not that Akashi was ungrateful for the assist, but he really could've handled this (especially with the other him planting a few good ideas in the forefront of his mind); but honestly the way Nijimura said "we" made a little thrill run through him.

Akashi smiled at his keyboard, keying in a search for the day's Nikkei index. Kissing Nijimura that night was a lot like the stock market, honestly-- high risk, high reward.

"So, let's be clear here," Misaki said, pushing glasses up the bridge of her little nose. "Are you guys dating?"

Akashi paused at the keys. Nijimura stopped rearranging the papers. They looked right at each other, confusion mirrored in their eyes.

Here, Akashi decided to play it safe. "Well, we haven't gone on an actual date or anything yet..."

"But I was thinking that maybe we could sort that out over lunch, just you and me, at that curry place down the street that everyone thinks is really good?" Nijimura supplied, the tone of his voice rising like a question towards the end.

Sasekura looked like she was about to faint. Misaki clutched at her cheeks.

Akashi beamed. "That sounds good."

Then Misaki groaned, and Sasekura slid slowly off of Akashi's desk. He and Nijimura exchanged sly smiles. Short circuiting their coworkers had probably bought them about a morning's worth of peace.

That is-- it did, until it took Akashi about a good ten seconds to realize that holy shit he was going on a lunch date with Nijimura what the hell was he supposed to do?

Akashi took in a long, deep breath. He opened up a few work files and tried to train his eyes solely on the screen. This independent millennial thing, he was beginning to realize, was total, incomprehensible shit. Yes, granted, he had an apartment and hot water and two full insulated bags of food until he progressed beyond the art of scrambled eggs, but he'd kissed Nijimura without a damn plan in mind-- nothing except the giant, glowing realization that he was in love in mind, in fact.  What was he going to do next? he wondered, holding his breath, wrestling his traipsing heart back into obedience. Was he going to post a #foodporn of the lunch later and fully embrace the young adult romcom he was roping himself into?

This love thing might have been a liability if it weren't so exhilarating half the time. Since when did Akashi Seijuurou not have a plan, he thought-- but at the same time, when was the last time Akashi Seijuurou didn't have a plan, you know?

Akashi sucked in more air without letting his previous breath out at this. He decided to breathe out before he turned blue, though, because whatever end goal he was gunning for, falling out his chair gasping for air should not be anywhere on the itinerary. That's right, Seijuurou, just... click... and copy... and paste... and click... and...

"Hey, you ready to go?"

Akashi blinked and glanced at the time. _Oh, you have got to be fucking_ \--

"Yep, just give me a minute," Akashi smiled up at Nijimura, as if nothing was wrong, as if there wasn't an army of the world's most violent butterflies in his stomach. Nijimura smiled softly back, like a shoujou prince, and Akashi feigned innocence and nonchalance as he bundled himself up again and made a mental note to fight Kise for that Oscar he claimed he deserved.

"Have fun, you two," Sasekura winked. "But not like, too much fun."

"Akashi, is there an acid of some sort that's invisible to the eyes and won't melt piano keys?" Nijimura asked lightly.

"Hydrochloric, I believe," said Akashi, matching his tone. "A wayward pianist would find their fingers itching for days, at the very least."

As they boarded the elevator, the last thing they saw was Sasekura's scandalized face.

The silence on their ride down was peaceful and victorious, even as the car filled and the two were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder against each other at the back. Nijimura's eyes crinkled with his smile, bright as Akashi's own, and he just managed to say "This is going to be great," before faceplanting right out the elevator doors.

"Fuck," Akashi said for him, kneeling down to help him up.

Nijimura just groaned. "Yeah. It hasn't been a great day so far."

"Well, let's change that, shall we?" Akashi smiled, gesturing towards the doors. _Next time I'll catch you_ , he vowed silently.

"Yeah, let's," Nijimura laughed. It died away a little quickly, though, and he said, "But can we take the fire exit? I'm not confident of my luck with the revolving door right now."

Akashi laughed, and followed Nijimura out the back. "What's been happening that's gotten you scared of a spinning door?"

"Okay, listen to what you just said."

"'Spinning door'. You're right; it's sketchy and vaguely threatening."

"Damn right," Nijimura grunted, smirking. Akashi rolled his eyes. "But if you really need to know: my keys fell down a drain this morning, and I nearly choked to death when my scarf got caught on the turnstile at the station."

"Well, you're lucky I'm here to push you out of the way of stray bullets then."

"You're right. I am lucky," Nijimura said quietly, giving Akashi one of his softest smiles. Akashi blinked owlishly up at him. Nijimura was avoiding his eyes somewhat, his cheeks warm and pink. Self-consciously, he swiped at his nose and dipped his head a little more. Akashi couldn't believe this-- their conversation was bouncing off the walls of a back alley in the middle of Tokyo, inane and lively, and this was better than anything he'd ever dreamed up (not that he'd admit to daydreaming much, though). He remembered kissing Nijimura just last night-- he remembered all too well the drop in his stomach when he pulled away and saw Nijimura's eyes cloudy with confusion. Then he could still feel more than just recall the sharp spike in his heart rate when Nijimura grabbed his face between feverish palms, pressing his lips hard against Akashi's own. Akashi felt the color rise in his own cheeks remembering how his hands roamed, how Nijimura had allowed it, right until--

"Oomph!"

"Money and valuables, now," said the man with the knife against Akashi's throat. Nijimura's eyes widened like Ping-Pong balls and Akashi had to resist the urge to ask him if he was alright and warn him against letting his eyes roll out of their sockets; however, the blade was scratching worryingly close to his Adam's apple.

"Are you fucking joking?! Are you robbing us?!" _Nijimura, those aren't the smartest questions, but I guess you're panicking a little right now--_

"Are you fucking stupid?" _Okay, I'm in agreement with you, but no need to be rude._ "Valuables! Now!" bellowed the man.

"It's broad daylight!" Nijimura cried, digging his wallet out of his pants pocket.

"Phone too, if you don't want me to slash this little faggot's throat," growled the mugger.

Akashi watched Nijimura's gaze grow stormy. He dug his cellphone out of his pocket, handing it over with his wallet.

Don't worry, Akashi wanted to say, but he was just waiting for knife to go a little farther from his throat as the man reached over. Akashi could feel no fear, only the heat burning in his vision as the other self lingered on the cusp of control. He could see the shake in Nijimura's hands in perfect definition, and felt the slight shift in the mugger's weight as he made a grab for the wallet.

Perfect.

Akashi hooked his leg around the mugger's, his heartbeat and the rush of adrenaline roaring in his ears. With a short yell he flipped the man over his shoulder, twisting himself away from the knife to grab hold of it instead, before bringing it violently down on the fallen mugger's shoulder. More yelling, now. Pulse still pounding in his ears, Akashi felt an incredible wave of relief as he clutched hard at the knife hilt.

He'd trained for this as a precaution, but thank goodness the maneuver had worked out for him in real life. His heart stumbled in his chest thinking how unfortunate it would've been if he'd impaled himself instead.

"Shu-- Nijimura," Akashi huffed, blinking away the other Akashi. There was sudden quiet in his ears and he realized that Nijimura had only now stopped shouting. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking up at him, letting the concern he felt color his voice.

Nijimura swallowed hard. That was when Akashi realized that he'd stabbed a man on what was essentially their first date, and he would actually get blood on very expensive pants if he didn't fix the way he was squatting over the body.

"Am I alright?" Nijimura finally rasped, the same time the mugger whimpered, "I'm not!"

"Okay, shut up," Nijimura huffed at him.  The mugger let out a pathetic whine. Akashi watched this all with bated breath,  waiting for Nijimura to deliver his judgement and tell him that maybe he shouldn't have made out with a complete psychopath last night, and that would be okay, Akashi would understand, he'd just have to formally change his name and spend the last of his money on a lawyer that would help him fix all his papers so he could emigrate to Argentina and maybe build his empire there instead because who the fuck demonstrates the uncanny ability to down a man with a knife on the first date?

Or at all, actually?

"Akashi, the real question is are you okay?" Nijimura asked, his voice low. "You were the one just held a knifepoint..."

Akashi was about to concede his defeat and leave, until he realized what Nijimura was saying.  It didn't sound like he was being banished to the far reaches of a Nijimura-less world...? How does one react to this with poise?

He decided to take the honest route. "I'm alright, although I just stabbed a man. You're not... extremely bothered by this, are you?"

"I am, a little," Nijimura admitted. "But he deserved it? Also that move was pretty sick; was that one from _the Transporter_?"

And there it was again-- the feeling of flying, of seeing the light. Akashi would think back on this moment and realize that he was hunched over a bleeding mugger and still over the moon that Nijimura thought he was cool.

_You're getting quite greedy for his acceptance_ , said the other him, to which Akashi replied, _shut up_.

"We should go get some cops, though. Oh, wait, there they-- _you again_?"

Akashi stood and turned around. One of the officers who had just entered the alley was looking at Nijimura with a face like he'd just sucked on a lemon. "Delinquent Cat Owner," he hissed.

"Sad Old Man Who Doesn't Like Me Feeding Strays," Nijimura hissed to the side.

"What was that?" Officer Sad Old Man Who Doesn't Like Nijimura Feeding Strays snapped.

"Nothing," Nijimura answered brusquely. Akashi just looked between them. "Officer, this man here would have mugged us if my boyfriend hadn't--"

"Stabbed him in the shoulder?" The mugger groaned in agreement.

_Boyfriend?_ thought Akashi, heart racing, trying to keep the stupid (probably crazy-looking) smile off of his face, pretty much ten minutes behind the current conversation. Or maybe he was six years in the future, on his Caribbean honeymoon with Nijimura or something.

_Keep it together_ , he told himself. _Right_ , he replied.

"Wait, hold up, hold up," said another officer from the sidewalk. Now, Akashi balked. The policeman's drawl was too familiar, his stance and swaying walk too distinct for comfort.

"Did you just say 'boyfriend', Nijimura-senpai?" Officer Haizaki Shougou said, grinning way too wide for the situation.

 

* * *

 

 

Akashi ended up calling Misaki from the station.

"We're alright, though," he said, glancing at Nijimura and the storm clouds brewing over his head. The other man just sat slouched on the bench by the phone, not in any mood to be explaining their almost-arrest to anyone.

"I'm glad you are," Misaki breathed in reply, and Akashi could only imagine her little heart palpitating. He’d told her everything, even how they’d threatened Sasekura, more for Misaki’s entertainment and posterity more than anything else. "But, uh, Akashi-kun... did you leave it out, or did you and Nijimura not actually get to have your first date?"

Akashi winced. "We didn’t.”

"Take another hour off, then," Misaki said decisively. Akashi would've chalked it down to mishearing her over the phone, but the line was crystal clear. "I'll cover for you."

"Misaki-san, you don't need to--"

"No, please, let me! You deserve a break. And don’t bring Nijimura back to the office if he’s still grumpy; I can hear his bad mood from all the way here."

Akashi chuckled. "Misaki-san says hi," he said to Nijimura, who just raised his eyebrows sky-high. "Nijimura and I both say thank you, very much," he said softly into the receiver.

"Don't get all feels-y on me right now, Akashi-kun," she trilled. "Though, jeez, it's lucky your lawyer friend was hanging around that exact same precinct, huh?"

Akashi glanced over to where Mibuchi Reo, step mother and savior, was chatting up an unsuspecting detective.

"Definitely."

 

* * *

 

 

The curry place was still full when they got there a little later, so they ended up at every young adult's choice server of nutritious staple food: the Maji Burger across it.

"I am so sorry," Nijimura said gravely as soon as Akashi'd set the tray down in front of him. "I shouldn't have provoked Officer Dick Face."

"I assume we're talking about Officer Sanada, because I believe I was the one who wrongfully provoked that demon Haizaki earlier."

"He fuckin' deserved it," Nijimura growled. He took an angry sip out of his soda. The giant bite he took out of his cheeseburger was vengeful.

Akashi smiled ruefully around his. "We know more or less ten people who joined the force after they graduated. Where was Nebuya, or Kasamatsu, or even Hyuuga when we needed them?"

"I don't think you could easily convince Hyuuga that you stabbed a mugger out of anything else than pure savagery," Nijimura chuckled.

"You're right," Akashi laughed. "But I think I know what's going on now."

"What do you mean?"

"I got a text from Midorima as I was standing in line." At this, Nijimura's gaze turns mischevious; Akashi couldn't help laughing some more because he knew what he was thinking. "Yes, he was apologizing for, uh, walking in on us last night."

Nijimura gave a contented hum. Akashi grew warmer thinking about the feel of Nijimura's fringe against his own forehead, or how Nijimura had walked him right back until he was pressed up against the fridge, and how quickly things were progressing until Midorima Shintarou had let himself in after nobody had noticed him knocking for five minutes. Midorima let out a choked cry, seeing both men with their shirts askew and cheeks flushed, and grabbed the jacket he left before getting the hell out of dodge.

Then Nijimura's mother had called wanting him home for dinner because Aunt Tomie would be cooking and so on and so forth, and Akashi's night had ended with a chaste good night kiss and the promise of _I'll see you tomorrow._ There was the _I like you a lot_ , the _me too_ , and honestly that was all Akashi really needed to hear for now—they could deal with schedules and technicalities and the fact that Akashi stabbed a bitch--

Akashi snapped back to the present, then. "He also told me to tell you to be careful."

"To be--?"

With a flourish, Akashi drew the plastic rose out from under the tray he'd been hiding it. "Gyaah," Nijimura said.

"Sagittarius is first, and Cancers are last on Oha Asa today," Akashi laughed, handing the thing delicately to Nijimura, who played along and accepted it as if it were a real flower. "Your lucky item for today is a red rose, courtesy of Maji Burger's tasteful Valentine's decorations."

The holiday was a week away, but true enough, the store was already laden with cutout hearts and plastic roses in varying shades of red and pink.

"Nasty," Nijimura agreed. "But maybe it's a good thing that Valentine's is coming around soon. I could, um, really work with a do-over so you don't have to deal with an awful first date." His eyes slid to anywhere but Akashi's face then, his voice gone low and gravelly. "And thank you for this," he added softly.

"Today wasn't awful," Akashi lied smoothly. From the way Nijimura finally met his eyes again and smirked something smug, he could tell he knew. But another question had been nagging Akashi all day. "Is this weird for you, though?" _That I'm a guy?_

Nijimura took his time answering. "It is," he finally admitted. "But honestly today is already better than 99.9% of the dates I've ever gone on."

A laugh escaped Akashi despite himself. "What kind of relationships have you been getting into?"

"Heterosexual ones, and awful ones at that," Nijimura replied blithely. "But, uh..." He paused, thoughtful. "You know those scenes in the movies where the two people are wandering a little aimlessly down a beach?"

"Oh, you mean, one person coming from one direction and the other from the opposite?"

"Yes, like that," Nijimura nodded. "Then they catch sight of each other and realize that's where they want to go, and start running in slow motion."

Akashi hummed. "That's us?"

"Well, that's how I felt, is all," Nijimura said a little loudly, suddenly flustered. Akashi found it endearing beyond belief and had to physically restrain himself from breaking through the Maji Burger glass storefront and dancing on the street. "I felt like... we met, and it got cut short because of well-- Dad-- and then we catch sight of each other again and it's almost like..."

"Magic? Gravity?" Akashi suggested, smirking. " _Foolishness_?"

Nijimura grinned. "I have to write this down."

And so Akashi amiably watched Nijimura scribble little lines, little bars of music on the back of their receipt for a while, until Nijimura seemed to pause over a word.

"Will you ever talk to him again, Akashi? Your father, I mean."

Akashi's gaze darkened.

"Sorry, it's none of my business--"

"No, it's fine. It's just-- this is why he disowned me. Because I'm gay."

Nijimura froze. Even the pen he was energetically twirling between long, nimble fingers came to a sudden stop. "Jeez, Akashi, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault," Akashi said nonchalantly, but he knew deep down that a part of him was throwing the best bit of shade, yelling _, It's not my fault either, Father, it's yours, definitely, it's_ \-- But that wasn't the point. Akashi mouth got ahead of him, then, spilling out the barest bones of a thought that had formed in his mind of the past few days. "I think I should talk to him, though, even if I don't want to. An instinct of mine is telling me I should, though I can't imagine why."

“What's the opposite of 'paternal instinct'?" Nijimura asked, smiling slightly.

Akashi groaned and rolled his eyes to the heavens. Nijimura laughed. "I don't think I'd know, seeing as my father had barely any of that," Akashi said.

When Nijimura's laughter died down, there was a small, sad smile left on his face. "You don't really owe him an explanation of who you are, or anything. I don't condone his actions. It's just sad, I guess, how some people get to be fathers but don't really follow through on it, and some kids don't get to make it right with their dads ever." Nijimura's pen began to scrawl softly over the back of the receipt again. "Then there just are some of us who'd do anything for a few more minutes, you know."

Akashi felt his chest clench. Somewhere in him, he still loved Masaomi as his father, even though every other instinct was yelling at him to forget that because what kind of father chooses not to recognize his own son?  In a world where his mother was no longer around to temper that, moreover?

Akashi tamped down his anger, his sadness. There were other important things at hand now, like his plans of hostile takeover and his incredible new boyfriend. "Hey," he said gently, snapping Nijimura out of reverie. Nijimura seemed to realize right then that he'd turned into a giant sap, and fumbled his pen.

"Don't worry. Also, I know this is a poor solution, but do you want milkshakes on our way back?"

Nijimura smiled, stood, and-- _oh gods above_ \-- offered Akashi his hand. "That sounds great. My treat."

 

* * *

 

 

"Is that blood on your sweater?"

"What about it?" Akashi said around his straw. Sasekura paled. Behind her, Misaki still stood with her hands on her hips, livid.

"Sasekura!" She reached up high to grab the top of Sasekura's head and force it down into a bow. Sasekura only yelped, but didn't contest. "Just give him the damn mail."

"I can't believe you've been holding onto our damn mail for two weeks," Nijimura grumbled, logging back into office account.

"I forgot, okay?" said Sasekura, rubbing the back of her head. She handed Akashi the slim, sturdy card envelope. Akashi received it, puzzled, because who even knew he worked here aside from the Generation of Miracles?

When he took in the crest embossed on the lip of the envelope, he knew. "Ah, thank you, Saseskura-san."

_Akashi Seijuurou_ , it read on the back in flowing letters, not Kanji like everyone else does it. His office address was written out, too, in the same curling script. He didn't even have to fully read the letter inside to know what this was about-- he got one every year, after all.

"Hey, Nijimura," Akashi called softly. "About that do-over on Valentine's day."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *sumimasen like Sakurai* again, I'm mizoguchiest on Tumblr if you wanna yell at me for this


End file.
